burning shadows alive
by light of a firefly
Summary: The eyes of god have taken pity on this wounded animal. Atem expresses compassion. Pharaoh Atem x Thief King Bakura. 03/?
1. noble ruler

* * *

Prayer didn't reach his ears too often anymore.

The hope of a god's mercy as distant as the sun's hidden bands by the tops of pyramids. He never saw the sun much anymore as well, unless it was already the beginning of twilight and his shadow had already begun to disappear beneath his heels.

When he'd sleep during the day, he'd dream of the face of a man he couldn't see. Until that evening, when he listened to his shadow praying. From his half conscious state, he could smell the scent of _Frankincense_ seeping into his lungs. The side of his temple was resting on a cot that was harsh to his burnt skin. Where was he?

"Thief." Came the voice of the shadow. The prayer had stopped, and he felt his head sink against the cot, he breathed in, unable to feel the sensation in his right leg. Hoisting himself up on his bruised left elbow, he realized this shadow was speaking to him behind bars.

"Where am I?" The cautious words fell heavily from his tongue, the back of his head throbbing from a blow that was unknown to him. The last thing he could remember, was slipping away with the shadows of the evening, high up in the caves out in the desert. What had came from that evening?

"My palace." The tone itself was humble, and a glint from what slivers of light were somehow left through the cracks, he saw the Eye of Horus staring back at him. The gold headdress easily catching the light, outlining the contours of the young man's face clearly in his wake. The eyes were red, blazing against the complexion of his skin, as dark as a desert's restless eve.

Pharaoh.

The energy he'd sensed in that moment, was nothing short of a bittersweet miracle that left his tongue dry. His blood seeped and raged through his veins under his bruised skin. His heart lay in his throat, while his eyebrows creased with anger. This was the man that he had dreamt about for so long, but had in truth hated more than fate itself. His humble face, was also the face of destruction that he'd still hear screaming in the back of his mind.

The licking flames of his people, reduced to nothing but ash.

"You." He spat, half sitting up on his elbow.

"I wouldn't force yourself to move too much. Your wounds were extremely extensive. You've already been treated, regardless of your actions." He heard his footsteps drawing close to the bars, and hissed from the cot. This caused the young man to stop, but not retreat. His cape draped at his feet, and even from down below, he could make out the shimmer of his jewelry.

Words flooded up the back of his throat, but the pain from numerous burns on his legs silenced nothing but the air flowing from between his lips.

"They were going to burn you alive, for your crime against the sleeping in the tombs. However, I will not have your blood on my hands in start of this new season. With the sake of the gods, you are at my mercy, thief."

"I'd rather been burnt to death, and spend eternity alive to torture you for the rest of your life." His eyes struggled to focus, now that the light had disappeared from the Pharaoh's face.

"I'll never die."

* * *

_"I'll never die." _

Were the words he could taste on his tongue, whenever he heard the thief writhe in pain by means of candle light down in the prison chamber.

Between his lips was a dirty piece of linen to not give the guards the satisfaction of hearing his discomfort.

It was he, Atem that had ordered the thief to be kept alive - after nearly being burnt alive for the crimes against the slumbering kings in their tombs. Atem, who later on wiped the sweat from his brow after his wounds had been drained and cleaned. The thief seemed most like a subdued, caged animal when Atem'd touch him, and despite the cautious words from his advisers, Atem still wanted to gain his trust.

He never spoke to him again. Atem found this intriguing, because he'd visit him down in the chamber each day. Though, when he opened the door to get closer, the thief never reacted outside of his joints tensing.

"Come."


	2. your flesh is human

He couldn't see, but he felt.

He felt every welt on his back seem to slice itself deeper through muscle. His bones felt like they'd been able to rattle, and he hadn't even been aware that he had been moving. His footsteps were gradual, but his feet were accompanied by the young ruler's feet. He could see the muscles in his legs tense as he gripped his taller body, and that's when he could feel the arms around him as they led him up the stone steps. His pulse was boiling under his skin, but he could not detect a wave of uncertainty from the ruler, only dexterity.

After spending what seemed like days down in dark prison chambers, his vision was abruptly blanketed with light from between the slivers of a brick door. Mud and brick disappeared from under his feet, replaced by the finest crafted marble he'd felt. There were scents to behind above ground, that weren't damp and clogged - but incense was burning. It tickled his nose. It must've been midday, he had no concept of time.

He heaved a breath, and the abrupt footfalls of an adviser followed.

"Ntraa-!" He heard, the tone rich with sincere respect. Atem stopped, and Bakura couldn't see his face, but only the torso of the adviser, before he had bowed with his eyes ablaze. Atem stood rigid, and the air was the only thing to move as he raised his hand to draw silence.

"Take him to the bed chambers, clean him, and do no harm to him."

Bakura absorbed the humble words, but the torso of the adviser darkened behind his eyelids, the last thing he'd come to remember about that evening, would be Atem's voice.

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When he awoke, the scent of iGalbanum/i was high in the air, and his head felt heavy from the sudden presence of light. After being fixated in the dark, and occusional dim lighting underground, it was enough to made him feel sick. His fist clenched, fingers digging into the sheets under his body that didn't belong to a cot. He flinched, leaning on his elbow to make a move to sit up, when he felt the presence of a hand suddenly grip him by the shoulder.

"Don't get up."

The familiar voice brought on crimson eyes, watching his own under his bangs. He wasn't alone this time, this time, there were several young advisers in the young ruler's wake. Some looked no older than he was, but their eyes spoke of nobility that was just as sincere as the ruler at their side. Bakura felt his throat run dry, loosening his fingertips and making no farther movements.

"Leave me." Atem said slowly, causing breaths to hike behind him.

"Pharaoh." He heard the cautious voice of Mahaado urge from behind, to watch Atem dismissed with a shake of his head.

Atem made no means to repeat himself, but the reluctant disperse of footsteps made him visibly relax his face and eyes. Bakura was studying him, this Atem could sense, the trace of lavender eyes that roamed the farther structure of his face. His fingers clenched the linen sheet his body was resting on, and he felt his breath trap itself in his throat.

"You can ask me the question you want."

Bakura, lightly taken back by his tone, licked the top of his dry upper lip. "Why'd you save me?"

"You didn't commit a crime in my eyes. You were found near the palace, in which the guards considered you a threat due to your assumed history of stealing from village stands. There was no need for that type of retaliation behind my back."

"I'm still considered a thief." Bakura exhaled, due to the fact that he wasn't going to deny everything that made him what he was. His village had been destroyed by this seemingly humble hands that had bandaged him and cleaned his wounds.

His regret, shame, and anger hadn't entirely reached the surface of his veins, but now, after being graced with the presence of this man - he didn't know how a man like him could slaughter people.

Not if he had saved him from the brink of death.

"No, you're still considered a human being."

iHuman/i.

What about the people he'd left behind in the village he'd been ripped away from? He wanted to ask him that. Though the words choked behind his tongue - and the more he studied those eyes, he couldn't find the words anymore. iHow could you?/i His breathing intensified for numerous seconds, before it slowed.

"Tell me your name." Atem continued, to attract conversation.

"Bakura." His lips managed to form the mystery name without hesitation. He hadn't known where 'Bakura' had even came from. It wasn't his name. He wasn't even sure it was ever part of his existence. How he got it, or what his real name was, he hadn't an idea anymore. His memory didn't breach below five years old.

"Just, iBakura/i, it's always been that."

"Then you are to address me as just iAtem/i."

Bakura suddenly couldn't stomach the reality of his role as a murderer.


	3. agony of tragedy, he like the sun

* * *

Though he didn't particularly care for the company he had in the caves among the desert's dunes, he didn't complain. For his age, Bakura had established himself a man instead of a boy - who could keep his own. This was important in the caves, for the hierarchy depended on survival of the fittest. In a place where there were mostly thieves and traders, being able to take care of yourself was key. Bakura surely was no king of thieves, but had been crafty enough to learn how to steal what he needed from the dexterity used by senior thieves. Many nights he'd spend out, in some cases having to rob the same type of people he'd seen during the brief times he'd been out during the day time.

Many of the thieves were also constructors of the pyramids that had been built, or ancestors of those who had built them. Their knowledge of stone work, and the narrow passage ways into these sacred pyramids, made the tombs of sleeping past kings easily accessible. Bakura had been convinced one evening to follow a group to the Valley of the Kings, to do what he thought was alluring at the time and an ideal way to seek revenge he hadn't been fully aware of until that night.

Jarha was the man who was leading the group that evening. It was easier to travel on foot than by horses, and Bakura saw this man as a symbol of everything that the East represented. Darkness, with a stoic demeanor and relatively cold speaking tones. Jarha had a group of five men who were planning to rob the Pharaoh's tomb that night, Bakura, unknowingly to himself, was adopted as the decoy.

They chose the week before the festival of lights - and descended like shadows on the walls. Bakura, who had never done anything outside of petty thief, watched the craftsmanship that went into dismounting hefty traps that had been set up just outside the first heavy brick wall that separated the hidden walkway leading downstairs into the tomb. When Bakura looked to the left, painted on the wall, was the goddess of Ma'at.

Seconds after that, he heard the sudden vulgar curse of one of Jarha's men and a subtle _drag _made when the heel of a foot abruptly hits the sand. The presence of torches outside the main doorway of the pyramid told Bakura one thing.

"A set up!" Jarha roared.

What happened next, Bakura remembered bits and pieces of. The sudden scuffle of getting out of the pyramid, and the amulet that Jarha had dropped in mid-escape. It was left at Bakura's feet under the moon's watchful gaze and the glare of an opened tomb in his backdrop. The presence of torches lit wildly, reflected themselves in Bakura's pupils.

Somebody had given them away.

"_THIEF_---!" A voice bellowed, and Bakura looked up to see the shadows of five men elusively disappear into the thicket of the Egyptian evening. Seven guards surrounded him, to which Bakura's stance was stiff. He hadn't gone into the tomb like Jarha and the other four. Instead - Bakura had been facing Ma'at.

One bound his wrists with a rope, digging far into his bronzed skin.

Instead of speaking, Bakura felt something bite his tongue, before a growl erupted from his throat. He hadn't done wrong - he had been played to be the fool. It was them, that King of thieves. That man that had already disappeared. He had been the one to seek to disgrace the Pharaoh - even if in his blood, Bakura wanted to do it.

"Take him to the palace."

Palace? He'd never seen the palace until that evening. Or - the outside of it. He'd been on his feet while the guards traveled on horses - only stopping a few feet from the palace when a shadow appeared on his own horse. The first thing Bakura noticed about this man, was the piercing stare of the blue eyes that strikingly stood out from his bronze skin.

"Priest Seth!" Announced the guard in the center. Bakura's stare lingered, as unblinking as the Priest's himself.

"This boy was found breaking into the holy grounds of the Valley of the Kings."

This caused Bakura's eyes to narrow into slits, the anger that flowed through him outweighed any grain of fear he was supposed to feel. "I was doing no such thing. I was set up--"

Seth's hand raised, palm out to silence him.

"The fact that you were found near the Valley of the Kings at all is subject to judgment and punishment. However, you aren't worth the extreme amount of time of judgment, if you had the mind set to disrupt the tombs of the kings." Seth glanced at the torches that were firm in the guard's hands.

"The usual punishment of a tomb robber is impalement. However." A pause. "Burn him alive."

Bakura's eyes widened, while lips curled into a scowl. He jerked himself backward, as they pulled forward. He stared into those eyes. He looked down at his feet, watching his shadow struggle with as much might as he could - in an attempt to overpower a group of seven. There wasn't much he could do. He tasted the dry evening, the presence of the sand, and the newfound presence of fire as it drew closer. The rope had been snapped from his wrists, and wrapped around his arms and torso.

The flames started with his linen, eating away at the clothing, and scorching the skin. Bakura's eyes were sweating as he watched his shadow burn along with himself. Bakura couldn't feel, even if the presence of heat licked its way up his cheeks. Bakura's jaw creased, his brows knitted as several pairs of eyes watched. The blue eyes were gone, and all that was left was dull brown. The pain finally reached his skin, igniting several nerves that were scorned in flames.

He finally screamed.

Then he screamed.

Minutes were the longest. The smoke felt as if it had sacrificed his lungs.

"_STOP_!" Another voice roared, and through the thicket of flames he could see the fury set in eyes as red as the angry flames. Bakura couldn't remember anything but the voice, and the presence of those eyes.

Before everything was black, and there was no more anything.

* * *

Bakura occasionally saw the rebirth of the sun in the sky from the pillars of the palace. When his legs could hold his body up, and when the priests were busy with their daily hymns to bless the day. It was at these intervals in the early morning - that his eyes would catch the slivers of sun. It was the only portion of the day he could feel the tension ease itself from the muscles under his skin. However, other than this brief inner peace, he felt out of kilter in a place that catered to everything he was not. He was not meant to be royalty, or even in the presence of royalty, but the Pharaoh had touched his body and crossed a line that Bakura often compared to the sun. Royalty or peasant - the same type of eyes looked at the sun every morning. To him, Atem had become brief inner peace during the dawn hours. He'd become the sun.

His body wasn't as fatigue on that morning, perhaps he felt the damage more strongly when he tried to inhale - and the air would force his lungs to contract, tighten, and feel like the oxygen couldn't fill the entire lung. Atem wasn't there, because he was probably being prepped for the activates of the day, considering this - an escape could've been made while the Priests were busy paying respects at the temple. Though, he knew that if he had decided to leave, he couldn't have gone far. His injures were still pressed into his skin, and ash could still be tasted on his tongue. He'd been living in a bed chamber for two weeks - tolerated by the Priests, but the object of fascination by the young Pharaoh.

"You're awake."

His lavender gaze flickered towards the edge of the wide corridor, where the pillars sloped down into a stairwell. At the top of that stairwell, stood the Pharaoh - still wrapped in the casual linen, with the flicks of precious gold to symbolize his status. His eyes were watching his, and Bakura subconsciously felt the blood in his veins quicken.

The irony of thinking of escaping, he guessed.

"For now." Bakura's eyes turned away from what he could see of the sun's ascendance to face the Pharaoh. Much taller than he, but Atem didn't seem to be bothered by this. His eyes focused on his face, and never looked away. Perhaps blinked once or twice, but Bakura felt a strong sense of pride coming from that unnerved gaze. He relaxed, and for the moment, didn't dwell on his mixed feelings about who Atem was and where he came from. For now, Atem was his own pillar, and not a murderer.

"Did sleep find you well?"

Atem's voice was closer, because he was walking towards him, and Bakura hadn't edged away. He was up, but technically not permitted to step foot out the doorway of his chamber. Sleep. When he closed his eyes, he dreamt of the Valley of the Kings. Himself, in the Valley of the Kings, and the band of thieves that had originally been responsible for him to be in the Pharaoh's presence.

"I slept the same way I always slept - with my eyes closed."

"Surely with your eyes closed, but what about your mind?"

"That's none of your concern." Bakura retorted with haste, feeling the defensive nature he'd been carefully guarded causing his eyes to narrow. With the gift of peace Atem had brought him, Bakura was also burdened by the want to speak all truths - but he refused to say too much.

"I won't force you - but you'll have to take a meal. Then, you'll be spending the day with me."

Bakura's eyes studied his face.

This man really was the same man that had saved his life - but Bakura agreed, to spend the day at the Pharaoh's side, where he didn't belong - but Atem felt he did.


End file.
